Paris Love Match - By Nigel Blackwell Page 0,49
painting.”
Piers moved the tube away from her. “You know it?”
She ducked back out of the car. “Well, you know, I kind of recognize it. I couldn’t tell you what it’s called or anything.”
“But you said that’s it.”
“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”
“No. But I had no clue what painting we were looking for.”
“So, what, you think I knew?”
“Apparently.”
She screwed up her face. “That’s rubbish. It’s a painting. I vaguely recognize it and I’m sure it’s valuable. That’s all.”
Piers levered himself out of the car.
Sidney grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. “We figured it out. Well, you figured it out, really. But we found it. We can return it. Get it back where it belongs.”
Piers nodded. “We have to get in touch with Little and Large’s boss.”
Sidney stepped back. “Their boss?”
“Yeah. You don’t think we want to trust that pair, do you?”
“Well …”
“No. We need to deal with their boss to make sure this gets handed over and that we’re off the hook with these guys.”
He watched as Sidney’s nostrils flared and she clamped her jaw shut. She pushed her lips together so hard the pink almost disappeared. Then her smile returned and she put her arm through his. “You’re right. Come on. Let’s get away from here and sort it out.”
“Riiight.”
They walked out of the dead end and away from Notre Dame.
“We need to celebrate,” Sidney said.
Piers tapped the tube. “After we’ve handed this thing over.”
“It’s not a thing, it’s a precious painting. Either way, we need a good place.”
They passed a couple of restaurants until they reached a sign that read Epicure. “This one,” she said as she veered off into an expanse of tables set with white clothes fluttering in the wind. She talked to the maître d’, and waved for Piers to follow as they disappeared into the restaurant.
His skin prickled. He licked his lips and looked up and down the street. For once, he wished he saw the familiar faces of Little and Large.
He breathed deep and followed Sidney. Her hair drifted from side to side as she walked. Even in the low heels she had chosen in Places des Voges, she walked with supreme grace. She weaved around the tables with a spring in her step that had been absent while they were searching the side roads. He sighed.
She was exactly his sort. Hell, she was any man’s sort, but he wasn’t hers. Even in the clothes she had picked for him, he was no different than what he’d always been. Same old, same old. Once the painting was handed over she would run a mile.
Sidney directed the woman to a table in the corner, behind a pillar. The maître d’ looked surprised at her table choice, then handed them menus, and left. Piers placed the tube between himself and the wall, laying his arm across it for good measure.
Sidney flipped through the options in seconds. “Ratatouille. Plain and simple, just like me.”
“You just ate a couple of hours ago.”
“We found the painting. I’ve got my appetite back.”
“Obviously.”
She pulled the menu from Piers’ hands. “Aren’t you happy?”
He forced a smile. “Course.”
She lowered her head and stared at him through her fringes. “Course? That’s the best you can say? We found it. We’re done. It’s over. One moment we’re in fear for our lives and the next, poof, we’re back to normal. Surely that deserves some sort of celebration?”
“I’m only going be happy once we’ve handed this thing over.”
Her smile faded. “Yes. Soon.” She stood up. “Order for me. I’m going to the restroom.” She walked away, fumbling her phone from her pocket.
Piers watched her go, hypnotized by the spring in her step and the motion of her silky dress.
“Monsieur?”
Piers lurched back to the real world and grabbed for the tube.
A young man with black pants and a starched white shirt stood beside the table. “You are ready to order, non?”
Piers looked the guy up and down and scanned the restaurant before speaking. “Ratatouille. Twice. And two glasses of red wine.”
“Red?”
“Yeah, red.”
The man turned over the menu. “We have many reds, monsieur, if you like.” He paused, and his voice took on a bored tone, “Or we have the house red.”
Piers snapped the menu shut. “That’ll do.”
The young man departed and Piers surveyed the restaurant before pulling out Auguste’s phone. He turned to face the wall and dialed Little and Large.
Little answered on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“I never knew you cared.”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
“The merest hint of an inkling of a